


no, it's just a little blood

by ecomexi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, pining?pining anyone, pre-TS, tfw u just wanna kiss your childhood friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22080064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecomexi/pseuds/ecomexi
Summary: Linhardt hates fighting. But when your only friend since childhood insists on sparring with you every day, you don't really have much freedom.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez & Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Linhardt von Hevring & Ferdinand von Aegir
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	no, it's just a little blood

**Author's Note:**

> haha just got done repressing my feelings for my childhood friend which are ultimately associated with my desire for a peaceful & familiar life rather than a burdened one of death and violence through war and the responsibilities of nobility whats up professor

The dining hall was never a quiet place during meals, what with people always coming and going. There was always the dull hum of chatter between friends, or the clatter of plates being handled in the kitchen. The liveliness of the place was overwhelming sometimes, and often Linhardt wondered what it was about the menial task of eating food that made people so inclined to speak to each other at such volumes.

He was sure meals at his table were pretty much the worst in that regard, though. He shoved his food around on his plate with his fork listening to the bickering between Ferdinand and Caspar.

"What are you talking about?" Caspar shouted to across the table. With a glance, Linhardt noted that neither of the two had even touched their meals, they were so busy arguing — or, as Ferdinand would say, _having a discussion_. "The one who gets the final blow gets the credit!"

"Should we not also give credit where it is due to those who assist in damaging the beast? Or destroying its armor?" Ferdinand huffed. "Or even to the supporting mages that heal our wounds?"

"Ooh, don't even start! You're just mad cause you didn't get the kill, so stop talking all righteous!"

Edelgard cleared her throat. "Both of you are being too hotheaded. Can we please enjoy a peaceful meal for once?"

Without actually nodding, Linhardt agreed with her. He calmly took a bite and gazed over at Caspar sitting next to him, his cheeks flushed with indignation and eyes turned downward.

Another thought: Why do so many crave glory? It was rather irritating that the everyday validation nobles already received was still not enough to satisfy them. To that end, it was also sad that they would throw themselves into battle to receive that glorification — with their lances and swords in hand, always proclaiming their nobility to all that would listen.

Linhardt grimaced thinking about it. Battling beasts like they had last week wasn't nearly as bad as battle usually was for him, even if he tried to stay away from the gore. The blood of monsters was strange and discolored, and it tasted rotten when it splattered onto his face. Because of that, Linhardt could usually detach himself enough to go through the motions of his battlefield duties.

Caspar never hesitated though, monster or not. Linhardt never understood what he or his father found so interesting about mindless fighting. His gaze drifted away as he took another bite. The food was rather bland that day.

* * *

Two short knocks.

The door opened without a pause, and then slammed. Linhardt rolled over in his bed and squinted his eyes open. No one ever barged into his dorm room with as much confidence as Caspar did.

"What is it?" he grumbled, peeking out from beneath the pillow over his head.

"They told me to come wake you up. Again."

"Hm." Linhardt shut his eyes again.

Approaching his bed defiantly, Caspar groaned. "C'mon, man, don't do this to me! You know if everyone finds out I came to the training grounds without dragging you with me Hubert's gonna give me another one of his weird lectures again!"

"Then don't go," Linhardt retorted sleepily. "Why don't you take... a nap..."

"Nice try, Linhardt, but that one won't work on me — ya know Ferdinand was really mad you tricked him that one time?"

"I wouldn't call it a trick." Linhardt yawned. "He is certainly a snorer, though. I had a hard time falling asleep."

"Yeah, well, that's why he hasn't come to get you again." Caspar frowned, cocking his head to lock eyes with Linhardt. "Everyone's like, 'Caspar usually brings him back, we'll make him do it' and it's all your fault!"

"It is not my fault that Ferdinand is too gullible for his own good." Finally, Linhardt sat up, meeting Caspar's accusatory gaze. He sighed, and tried to change the subject. "You know, this morning the professor told me to begin training with a sword."

"Really?" Caspar raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. Really, I don't what they're thinking when magic is perfectly viable method of offense. Weapons are just so...barbaric."

"I mean, I guess..." Caspar averted his gaze. Linhardt felt himself growing sleepier the greater the silence grew, until suddenly Caspar straightened with a start and grabbed his wrist. "Let's spar then!"

The grip on Linhardt's wrist was not the grip of someone whose mind would be changed, but still his expression twisted in disgust. "Why exactly would I do that?"

"C'mon, it'll be fun! If you're gonna have to use a sword anyway, we might as well train together like old times!" He pulled Linhardt hastily to his feet. "I dunno anything about magic, but I can definitely help with swords!"

Linhardt stumbled and stared down his friend helplessly. His eyes were shining in that stubborn way that always meant trouble for Linhardt (or for anyone else he dragged into his messes). So in the end, he ended up trodding after him to the training grounds anyway. The sun beat hot on his neck and the light was harsh against his squinted eyes.

The training grounds always seemed so small, like you were standing upon a grand stage. People always stared at you as if a spotlight were shined on your head. Racks of weapons lay like props behind imaginary curtains. Linhardt ran his fingers along the hilts of the weapons decorating the entrance of the facility. He drew a sword, and it felt heavy in his hands. He looked to Caspar for direction, and already he brandished an axe of his own.

"Okay, so try like...actually holding it." Caspar mimicked the form with his own axe. "Nah, more like this... Actually, no..."

"Do you actually know anything about swords, Caspar?" Linhardt griped, unsurprised.

"Er, I'm more of an axe guy..." He readjusted his grip again. "Right. So you hold them like... this."

"If I cared about how to properly wield a sword, I would have gone to an instructor." Linhardt yawned and glanced amusedly at Caspar's still-shifting axe grip. "Let's just get this over with, yes?"

"Ugh, fine. We'll use practice weapons so we don't get blood everywhere, okay?" Caspar gave a content smile that he could only give to someone he'd known for over ten years.

Of course, Linhardt knew all the technicalities already. In theory, it was easy — holding a sword and swinging it in such a way that it slides gracefully into an opponent's chest. Linhardt could do all sorts of mathematics in his head figuring the ideal angle of attack, the weakest points of his enemy to cut into, the most efficient form. It was an entirely different matter to actually raise a sword and muster up the intent to go through with it, and usually it was a desire that Linhardt just didn't have.

So he pointed his sword to Caspar, thinking again that he didn't really understand him. But maybe the fighting would be okay. The determination sunken deep into Caspar's expression was familiar to him, after all. His father always loved to shove weapons into their hands and make them fight it out whenever Linhardt's father was distracted. Even when he was young, Linhardt thought it was pervasive the way he bet on his children like dogs. It never seemed like Caspar minded, though, or maybe he didn't realize. Despite that, when they grew older, he always opted out, always shot an awkward glance at Linhardt as if acknowledging some truth between them.

It was just like those times, right? Caspar had the same look, assured and content. So maybe it would be alright. Even if it was boring. And a little sickening.

Linhardt was clumsy with the sword, probably because he was still a bit drowsy and he was pretty sure his hands were shaking. Did he sleep through breakfast again? How long ago was lunch? He tightened his grip on the sword, fearing it might slip out of his hands. Magic wouldn't have been as difficult to wield as this flimsy wooden sword. He was struck once, and just as the pain registered, Linhardt felt what little determination he had slip away, too. He heard a murmur to his right, the distraction nearly causing him to stumble over his own feet.

"So he got the Hevring boy to train after all?" was what he heard. He bit the inside of his lip and held the sword ever tighter. He did manage to keep up, even against someone as zealous as Caspar, mostly because he left a number of openings for Linhardt to exploit. But he still swung the sword half-heartedly. Surely when he counted his bruises later they'd outnumber Caspar's twofold. Ugh, he didn't want to think about bruises. His whole body was already throbbing.

Then Linhardt hesitated. He hesitated, and the next second he saw the strike coming — but he just wanted to sleep. He fell. At that moment with his face against the pavement, he noticed how heavy his breathing had grown. He took a large, laborious inhale before he felt someone by his side, placing one hand on his shoulder and one over his hand.

"Linhardt!" Caspar helped him up, and blanched when Linhardt lifted his head to give him a wordless stare. "Crap. Uh, your nose is bleeding so don't look."

Linhardt looked past Caspar. An axe was thrown hastily to the ground; people were gathering around the two of them, mumbling. He touched his hand to his nose and felt himself getting nauseated. He could sense the bright and electric taste of blood on his tongue and he could feel it flowing past his lips and onto his chin, too. Caspar's eyes followed his hazy gaze and narrowed. "Hey! Someone get first aid unless you're looking for a fight!" he shouted, and the audience seemed to thin after his orders.

Linhardt pulled his hand away from his face, but before he could stare fruitlessly at the crimson of blood stained on his hands and egg his nausea on even more, Caspar grabbed his hand and pushed it aside with a glower that seemed to be telling him not to be so stupid. "You can sit down," he offered, his voice unusually hushed. Linhardt did just that, and Caspar followed him, all the while keeping their eyes locked together. A pause followed.

"Um. Sorry, Linhardt." Caspar let go of Linhardt's hand as if trusting him not to move it. "I didn't notice how tired you were."

Linhardt didn't respond. Something he hated about blood was the way it smelled. A substance indicative of conflict and hatred ought to smell equally as disgusting, but instead it was enticing. Curious. Almost sweet. Like any intoxicating scent, it seemed to go straight to his head, choking his brain and making his body feel heavy. He felt his head drifting down. Caspar pressed his palm to Linhardt's forehead to keep it raised.

"Seriously, dude. If you pass out I'm not gonna carry you back to your room. Did you skip breakfast again? And lunch?"

Linhardt mumbled something incomprehensible in confirmation. Then, "let go," slurred and muted. Caspar did, and Linhardt slid into his lap and closed his eyes.

"Hey..." Caspar grumbled, but he didn't move.

Linhardt only sunk deeper into Caspar's chest. "Let me sleep..."

Caspar felt Linhardt's breathing slow against him. He sat helplessly in the middle of the training grounds, taking care not to wake him up. His clothes were probably getting bloody. People were probably giving him strange looks. After many minutes, someone walked into the training grounds with medical supplies in hand. When Ashe saw the scene, he laughed a little.

"I was told it was an urgent situation, but it looks you've got it under control, Caspar!" he giggled.

"This guy falls asleep just about anywhere," Caspar sighed in response, half in relief. Gingerly, he turned Linhardt over in his lap. "Here. He's still bleeding."

Ashe kneeled down with a wet cloth, and peered down with his wide, kind green eyes. He smiled a little, gently. "Linhardt, right? He looks peaceful."

Caspar looked down at Linhardt, eyes closed and thin lips slightly parted. Hair messily fallen over his pale skin. He felt himself grow a bit warmer. "I guess," he replied simply, maybe a bit sheepishly. Ashe smiled again like he knew something Caspar didn't and leaned over to clean the blood off of Linhardt's face.

"So... what happened?" Ashe asked.

"Ummm... You probably shouldn't tell anyone this, but..." Caspar looked down at Linhardt's still-asleep face as he hesitated. "He has, like, this thing about blood. He's always hated it and usually passes out when he sees it. And ever since we got here, everyone's been bugging him to train. So I took him, and I just... didn't pay enough attention, I guess. Kind of a terrible friend, huh..."

Ashe cocked his head as took Linhardt's blood-soaked hand. "So he passed out?"

"Nah, not this time. He kinda just fell asleep after I made him sit down."

"Have you been friends with Linhardt for a long time, then? If he doesn't like to train, it must have been hard coming to the academy not knowing anyone..." Ashe looked over at Caspar for a moment, wonder in his eyes. "I think he's lucky to have you, Caspar."

"Yeah." Caspar nodded, and looked at Ashe with fire in his eyes. "He gets a lot of crap, honestly. I've gotten into my fair share of fights trying to make those assholes leave him alone! But he says he doesn't even care. And I can't say I don't believe him, but..."

"Even if he doesn't care, it's hard to just let it go, right?" Ashe agreed, beaming. "I don't think you should start fights, but I do think it's admirable to stand up for your friends, Caspar. You're really a good person."

"For real? Never thought I'd hear that from you. You're not too bad either, Ashe."

Ashe laughed again. "Will you take him to his room? He seems fine now, so there's no need for him to go to the infirmary for just a bloody nose. Ah, and if you want me to wash your clothes I'd be happy to!"

Caspar takes a big breath. "Guess I've got no choice!" As he stood up, he scooped up Linhardt — who was still fast asleep, of course — from his lap and held him up bridal-style. He grinned. "Thanks a ton, Ashe!"

"Um... yeah...!"

Even as Caspar carried Linhardt around to and fro, he never seemed to stir from his deep sleep. He must have been seriously tired. His dorm room wasn't far from the training grounds — luckily, because as strong as Caspar was, Linhardt was still much taller than he was. He climbed the stairs, and was about to start for the door when a familiar voice called out to him.

"Ah, Caspar!" Ferdinand's eyes drifted between Caspar and Linhardt in his arms. "I have been told that there was an incident at the training grounds. Is Linhardt faring well?"

"Yeah, he's cool. Just a nosebleed. I'm taking him to his room."

Ferdinand tipped his head like a confused puppy. "A mere nosebleed, and you are carrying him? Rather strange, no?"

"Um, yeah." Caspar tried to duck past the noble blocking his path, but Ferdinand denied him. "Dude, come on! Let me through!"

"Do not fret; I am only concerned for Linhardt, Caspar. Do you not think he could benefit from doing more stamina training?"

"Dude, chill!" Caspar managed to slip by, and turned back to Ferdinand. "Talk to him about it yourself when he's not asleep, yeah?"

Ferdinand made a twisted expression of defeat, and Caspar closed Linhardt's door behind him. Somehow, it always seemed so quiet in his room. He supposed the atmosphere reflected Linhardt pretty well. He laid Linhardt down in his bed, throwing the blankets over him haphazardly. He paused to watch how Linhardt took a few deeper breaths as if to acknowledge his new environment. Ashe was right when he said Linhardt really looked peaceful when he was asleep. Caspar had never really paid much attention to it before, but... Linhardt was really pretty, too. He didn't definitely didn't look like that when he was fighting. Caspar sighed, but he didn't know if it was quite out of frustration.

"Are you going to stand there any longer?" Linhardt turned over, eyes half-closed. He yawned. "You know, you would be a terrible father if you held your children like that."

"L-Linhardt?! How long have you been awake?"

"I haven't been, but it wasn't too difficult to feel you tossing me around in my sleep. Rather inconsiderate of you, really."

"Sorry. Ferdinand was being a huge nag again." Caspar sat down on the floor next to Linhardt's bed. "You know how it is."

Linhardt snickered a little. "I really don't know why he in particular wants to see me working so hard. The way he trains, he could probably make up for me three times over." He yawns again. "I should invite him over for another nap."

Another pause. Caspar felt like he should say something, but then again, Linhardt was being rather nonchalant about the ordeal. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Y'know, I forgot to pick up our weapons."

"It's for the best." Another long pause. This time, Linhardt broke it. "You know, Caspar, you really are quite different from your father. It's almost astonishing."

"What?"

"Your father probably would have helped me up, too — but then he would have grabbed his axe off the ground and kept fighting. I just think it's quite fascinating to observe the difference."

Caspar laced his fingers together and looked down at his lap, frowning. "I mean, you're right, but... well... I've always tried to be more like my old man. He's strong."

Caspar didn't see Linhardt's face, but his tone was shifting into something more solemn. "Well, I think there are better people to become than your father, with all due respect. It's not worthless or foolish to follow your own path. Likewise, I don't think chasing after pure strength is a wise pursuit either."

For once, Caspar didn't say anything in response.

Linhardt spoke again, matter-of-factly, after another slow, somber moment passed. "Caspar. Don't die." He said it plainly, easily.

Caspar lifted his head again. "Wh-What? Where the hell did that come from?"

But Linhardt did not ease up. "You don't ever think of dying?" he asked, unconcerned. He looked blankly at the ceiling. "Honestly, I don't know how I would react if someone I knew died."

"Obviously I think about dying, but like... I dunno, that stuff's just too depressing for me."

"Do you suppose you'll die before me?" Linhardt went on. He wouldn't even give him a glance, as if he was completely consumed in his own thoughts, and his expression remained as deadpan as ever. "Well, I suppose there's no way to truly know."

"What are you talking about, Linhardt?" Caspar sat up to look Linhardt in the eye.

Their clothes still smelled faintly of blood. Linhardt stirred in his bed. He choked the covers in his hands and didn't reply. Without making a sound, without changing his expression, finally Caspar stood up and wrapped his arms around his friend from the side of the bed. He felt Linhardt's heartbeat, slow and methodical like the way he spoke, like its own language. Caspar muttered something into Linhardt's ear as if trying to respond to it. "Just shut up, man. You know I never get anything you say."

"... Caspar." They lay there for a long minute or two, and Linhardt said absolutely nothing. Now, his voice was uncharacteristically subdued, and Caspar felt his hands cling to his back through the fabric of his uniform. "May I try something?"

For some reason, Caspar felt his heart rate go up even though he was already practically laying in bed with the guy. He found himself thinking he was glad that his face was over Linhardt's shoulder so he wouldn't have to see how red it was probably was. "I, uh. Don't mind."

Linhardt gave a drowsy half-nod. He pushed Caspar off just a small bit, just enough so that he wasn't hanging off his shoulder. Then he leaned forward to meet his lips, but more than a kiss, Caspar felt the way Linhardt's hands reached for the back of his neck. They felt so, so different from the carefree way Linhardt kissed him, and Caspar even felt like wincing sometimes the way his fingernails dug harshly into his skin. He thought doing this with Linhardt would make it easy to take everything slowly, but soon enough he realized he was on the bed atop Linhardt instead of on the floor where he started — and he stopped himself.

Linhardt wiped his mouth and pulled his hair out of his face. "Hm. I always wondered how that would feel."

"...Is that seriously all you have to say?" Caspar still hovered over Linhardt breathing a bit heavy, unsure of what to do. It wasn't all the time that he could look down at him.

"Not quite. Thank you, Caspar. For helping me earlier."

"You don't need to thank me. Like I was gonna just leave you there," Caspar dismissed. He looked down at Linhardt again, and thought this was probably the only time he'd seen Linhardt looked flushed from effort and content at the same time. Though, he still kept his frozen expression. But Caspar could just tell.

"I suppose." Linhardt paused, and smiled. "I don't suppose you could volunteer to wake me up more often now."

"Um, nah. It'd be scary seeing you used to the sight of blood."

"It would?" Linhardt looked surprised. "Though, that aside, that wasn't really the part I was talking about."

"What? Oh. I'm pretty sure Ferdinand would catch us if I of all people stopped showing up to the training grounds..."

"We can be quiet..." Linhardt coyly smiled again, leaning in. Caspar rolled his eyes and stood up again.

"Gotta say, I never thought I'd have to tell _you_ to go to bed, Linhardt." Caspar gazed at him; how the blankets had been thrown off, how his blue eyes looked just a bit disappointed. It made it rather difficult not to get a bit tongue-twisted. "So, uh. Go to bed."

Linhardt yawned and pulled the covers back over his head. "Wake me up for dinner..." Caspar heard muffled from underneath.

"Wait. Linhardt, give me your clothes."

Linhardt peeked out from under the covers with his eyebrows raised dubiously.

Unfazed by his choice of words, Caspar explained, "Ashe said he'd wash them."

"Ashe? That boy you're always fighting with?"

"Yup. He's the one that cleaned you up."

"I see... Where are you going now? Training again?"

"Nah."

**Author's Note:**

> haven't finished CF yet but i recruited caspar and lin in my AM playthrough so im valid (and i just think ferdie is neat)
> 
> twt @yumichiyanagi but dont follow if u expect constant fe stuff...i am a free spirit


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